Chapter Fifteen
Hayden
I Need You (To Make The World Seem Fine)
YUNGBLUD
She follows without hesitation, her fingers still threaded through mine.
The realization that she asked me to take her to my room nearly undoes me.
The hallway beyond the private lounge is quieter.
But it would be, it’s soundproof and warmly lit.
The muted pulse of music from upstairs fades with every step downward as I lead Vanessa toward the lower level.
The entire walk from the lounge, I can feel the weight of what almost happened still pressing against my ribs. The image of her sitting across from him. Laughing softly. Letting another man look at her the way only I should be able to. The way I still do.
And underneath all of that; the brutal understanding that she’d already chosen me before I even walked into the room. I tighten my grip on her hand slightly as we reach the end of the corridor. Vanessa notices. Of course she does. She notices everything.
I pull my key from my pocket and slide it into the lock on my door, the soft click echoing louder than it should in the quiet as it disengages. I open the door and let her step inside first.
She glances around the room, her expression drinking in the dark wood, the low lighting, the black leather chair, the large king-size bed centered on the back wall, the expensive whiskey in a decanter on a dresser.
There’s a floor-to-ceiling shelf lined with vinyl and books and things collected over years I stopped letting people ever see in case they might think they really know me.
Vanessa pauses just inside the doorway, slowly slipping her coat from her shoulders before hanging it carefully on the hook behind the door like she already belongs here. Like she’s always belonged here.
I move toward the dresser without speaking, reaching automatically for the decanter sitting beside the crystal glasses. Whiskey. Neat. Always. The amber liquid catches the light as I pour two fingers into each glass before crossing back toward her.
She takes the glass from my hand slowly, fingertips brushing mine.
Electricity flares between us. Everything with her still feels electric.
For a long moment neither of us speaks. She takes a sip first watching me over the rim of the glass while heat and tension and ten years of unfinished history settle heavily between us.
“Did you end it?” My voice comes out lower than intended, controlled only with a force I’m not quite sure how I’m maintaining.
Vanessa doesn’t look away. “Before you walked in.”
Something sharp twists low in my chest at the quiet certainty in her voice. It’s not defensive, and definitely not apologetic. But it’s with complete certainty. She chose me. The realization lands harder this time. Angry at myself because I didn’t trust that she would. And I should have.
I set my glass down carefully on the edge of the bar before I do something reckless like crush it in my hand. Vanessa watches the movement. Watches me. And somehow that’s worse.
“I know what you thought when you saw us.”
My jaw tightens. “Do you?”
“You thought I was coming down here with him.”
The directness of it leaves no room to hide behind anything. I exhale once through my nose, my gaze dragging toward the floor before finding her again. “Yes.”
No point lying to her. Not Vanessa. She’d see right through it anyway. She steps closer then. Slow and deliberate. And God, she still knows exactly what that does to me.
“You still rush in before asking questions.”
The words should feel like criticism. Instead, they feel like truth. Which is infinitely worse.
“He was touching you.” I grate out, releasing a slow breath to try slow my thudding pulse.
“And you panicked.”
Her response isn’t angry, or mocking. Just quietly observant. That somehow dismantles me faster than fury ever could.
“I didn’t like it.”
“No.” A faint, almost sad smile touches her mouth. “You never did.”
Silence settles again. It’s heavier now, weighted with an intimacy that wasn’t there before.
I look at her standing in her black dress, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, whiskey cradled in one hand, and all I can think about is how a decade hasn’t changed a damn thing where she’s concerned. Maybe it’s only made it worse.
“Tell me what you want, Vanessa.”
The words leave me rougher this time. And for maybe the first time in my life, I mean them without trying to shape the answer first. Vanessa’s eyes hold mine for one endless second before she sets her glass down with slow and careful precision and walks toward me with no hesitation.
The certainty in her gait a quiet confidence that hits somewhere dangerously deep in my chest.
She reaches me, one hand sliding against my sternum before pushing me backward. It’s not hard or forceful. But I fall back, and suddenly I’m sitting in the leather chair behind me while she remains standing between my knees.
Jesus Fucking Christ . My hands flex once against the armrests as she reaches for the zipper at the side of her dress to lower it. She doesn’t break eye contact as he slides the fabric down her body inch by inch until it pools silently around her feet.
And all coherent thought leaves my body. Black lace. Bare skin. Long pale legs I remember wrapped around my waist in shitty college apartments and against practice room walls and in the backseat of my car because we were twenty and obsessed and incapable of keeping our hands off each other.
But this, this feels different. It’s slow and intentional and seductive in a way you could never be at twenty. Vanessa steps closer until her thighs brush against mine before she settles onto my lap, one knee on either side of me, fingers sliding into my hair as her mouth finally meets mine.
Fuck. Me.
The sound I make against her lips barely sounds human.
I grip her hips hard enough to feel the heat of her skin beneath my palms as the kiss deepens into something devastatingly familiar.
She tastes like whiskey and every decadent sin I’ve ever wanted.
She kisses me like she knows how to pull me apart one slow inch at a time.
Her tongue brushes mine and every ounce of control I walked in here clinging to fractures violently, my fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to cause divots. But Vanessa, Vanessa stays calm. She kisses me slowly. Deeply. Like she’s reclaiming something too.
My forehead presses briefly against hers when we break apart for air, both of us breathing harder now.
“You’re shaking.”
Am I? I hadn’t even noticed. “Vanessa?—”
She covers my mouth with hers before I can finish whatever lie I was about to tell. Then suddenly I’m standing, lifting her effortlessly as her legs lock around my waist instinctively. Like muscle memory. Like coming home.
Her mouth stays fused to mine as I carry her toward the bed, lowering her carefully onto the dark sheets before straightening slowly above her. And the look she gives me then… God. She’s completely open, certain, and the desire in her eyes is crystal clear. It nearly destroys me.
I shrug my jacket off first, draping it neatly across the chair near the bed before reaching for the buttons of my shirt one at a time. Vanessa watches every movement. Every breath from her bursting out in a small pant.
The slow reveal of skin and scars and tattoos she once knew better than anyone alive. I slide the shirt from my shoulders before undoing my belt next, pushing my pants down and stepping free of them. Everything gets folded and placed on the chair. Everything controlled.
Even now.
Vanessa’s lips curve softly as she watches me. “You still fold your clothes.”
A rough laugh escapes me unexpectedly. “Habit.”
“No.” Her gaze drags slowly over me. “It’s who you are.”
And somehow hearing her say that feels more intimate than anything else tonight. The very fact that she knows me adding so much more to this moment. I prowl closer, every step measured and lethal, before kneeling between her thighs, fingertips ghosting over lace and skin and warmth.
I take my time relearning her. Remembering every inch of her as my mouth grazes along her collarbone first, then lower, kissing every inch of exposed skin like devotion instead of hunger. Though God knows there’s plenty of hunger too.
Vanessa’s fingers slide into my hair again, softer this time, her breathing uneven beneath me as I peel the last layers from her body on slow, reverent inch at a time.
I want her to understand that she’s something precious.
I can’t believe she’s something I once lost and can’t fully believe I’ve found again.
I drag my tongue over one of her peaked nipples before sucking it between my lips, my teeth pinching the tip as I flick my tongue over the hard bud. Her back arches off the bed, her fingers tangling in my locks as she pulls me tighter to her.
The mewl that vibrates up from her throat causes my cock to throb against my waist, and as much as I want to drive myself into her this very second, I’m not done exploring what I’d been missing for so long.
I switch to her other nipple, laving, sucking, tugging, her body a wriggling mess underneath mine. I release her breast and trail lower, over her stomach, swirling around her navel, and then even lower, until I’m on my knees, my head between her legs.
I place my hands on the inside of each thigh and spread her wider, and fuck if I almost don’t explode in that moment.
Her center is so wet with her desire that she’s glistening.
And her scent. It’s been over ten years, but it’s exactly how I remember.
Maybe better. I lean forward and drag my tongue up the middle of her folds.
I swallow, savoring the taste of her like a man who’s been denied entirely too long, and then return for more.
I settle in, letting my mouth do the worshipping my hands started.
I swirl my tongue over her center, feeling her jerk against my hold.
She tastes like sweet nectar and saltwater, intoxicating and perfect.
My thumbs press into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, holding her exactly where I want her as I slide two fingers inside of her and begin to thrust, my tongue continuing to stroke against her hard bud.
"God, Vanessa," I murmur against her wetness.
She cries out my name, her hips bucking upward, chasing my mouth.
I give her exactly what she wants, applying more pressure, sucking gently, relentlessly, until her thighs tremble violently against my cheeks.
Her hands are in my hair, pulling, gripping, anchoring herself to me as she shatters with a breathless, high-pitched gasp.
She rides the wave of her climax, her body bowing off the mattress, and I don't stop until the last shudder runs through her.
I don’t give her long to recover. I crawl back up her body, kissing the erratic pulse at her throat, her jaw, and finally capture her lips.
She doesn’t flinch at the taste of her own release, and it drives me absolutely feral.
I reach back toward the chair, fishing a small foil square from the pocket of my neatly folded pants, because even now, in the moment, I’m in control.
When I’m sheathed and I settle back between her legs, she reaches down to wrap her hand around my length, guiding me to her entrance. Our eyes lock. The look in her eyes reflects a raw, naked vulnerability that perfectly mirrors my own.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I push forward.
She’s as tight as I remember, and her body stretches to accommodate me, slick and hot and welcoming.
A guttural groan tears from my chest as I slide myself to the hilt.
We both freeze. Neither of us moves; we just breathe, letting our bodies remember the exact, perfect fit of each other.
"You feel," she whispers, her eyes shining as she looks up at me, "exactly the same. No, no,” she shakes her head, “it’s so much better."
I capture her mouth in mine and start to move. Slow at first, sliding back until we're barely touching, then driving deep. Every thrust stripping away another layer of the control I’ve always attempted to cling to so desperately.
She meets me halfway, her legs wrapping around my waist, locking me in exactly like she did when we were twenty, but with an agonizingly beautiful urgency that belongs entirely to right now.
The rhythm shifts, becoming frantic, desperate. The bed protests beneath us, the sound echoing in the quiet room alongside the slap of skin and our ragged breathing until my control fractures. I’m not reverent anymore; I’m a starving man who has finally been given a feast.
"Look at me," I demand, my voice wrecked and barely recognizable to my own ears.
Her eyes fly open, dark and blown wide with pleasure. "I'm right here," she gasps out, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders. "I'm yours."
Those two words snap the very last thread of my restraint. I pound into her, chasing the edge, blind and desperate. She cries out, the channel surrounding my cock clenching tightly around me, milking me, sending her crashing into a second, devastating climax.
Her release drags me right over the edge with her. I let out a rough shout, burying my face in the crook of her neck as I feel my relax explode, my whole body shuddering with the violent force of it.
I collapse against her, my chest heaving, my heart hammering a frantic beat against hers. I don't move to pull out. I can't. I just wrap my arms around her, holding her so tight I'm probably bruising her, burying my face in the familiar scent of her hair.
She strokes a hand back and forth down my bare back, her breathing just as ragged as mine. She presses a soft kiss to my neck. And for the first time in ten years, I finally feel like I’m home.
And as we both float back to earth, chests heaving, her head on my chest, neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. Because this, this was always inevitable.